


The Stars In The End, Lasting Past Love

by Cas_tellations



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, M/M, Phan Angst, Suicide, if you like angst this is the fic for you, selfharm, tws, v sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9496958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cas_tellations/pseuds/Cas_tellations
Summary: Dan and Phil were in love. But not anymore, because even through everything that they've gone through together, at the end of the day they're still just pretending to be whole.(an angsty au)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ****In no way am I saying that suicide is a good thing!****  
> tw's are in the tags. 
> 
>  
> 
> I love writing angst. It's what I'm good at. Thus, this fic becomes a thing.

 

 

 

* * *

 

“But we are in  _ love _ !” Phil begs, his heart twisting inside his chest.

 

Dan’s staring right back at him, almost-curly brown hair brushing past his eyes, somehow making him look more vulnerable and sad than he wanted to look. 

 

(They were in love. Used to be. Past tense playing a crucial role) 

 

“Dan?” A quiet voice, yet it still had the power to shatter glass.

 

“Phil…” Dan’s voice was barely a murmur. Barely anything, “We aren’t.” 

 

(We aren’t. We aren’t in love. We aren’t together. We aren’t anything.)

 

“But-” Tears prick both of their eyes, though more visible in Phils. Moments pass, “We aren’t?” It comes out as a question, a beg. A plea. For something, anything. For a way out, a way past this. 

 

Dan carefully keeps his low in his answer, “No. We’re not. We can’t be, can we?” 

 

The air between them feelings like it’s sucking their breath away, making it difficult to breath or move or think or do  _ anything.  _

 

(They had been like this is the past, though with better emotions running between them. Emotions signifying happiness and hope beyond anything anyone else had ever seen before.)

 

Dan is sitting on the edge of the sofa, Phil sitting cross-legged on the carpet a few meters in front of him, back resiting against the opposite wall. The T.V to Phil’s left played softly, the sound and lights emitting from it not disrupting their conversation. 

 

“We can’t?” A plea.

 

“No.” An answer, tear soaked. 

 

“Why not? What happened to us?” A cry for help, for an answer. 

 

“We-” Dan’s breath catches in his throat and he fights back a badly-concealed sob. He shuffles back on the sofa and pulls his knees up to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, “It j-just. Didn’t work. You  _ know  _ what happened, what’s the use in making me relive it again?” 

 

(Phil did know why, but he just wanted Dan to  _ explain. _ To tell him something new, to make it not be Phil’s fault anymore.) 

 

Silence lapses over them and Dan wonders if he can just leave. It’s their flat, they bought it together after being together for a grand total of three years. And now, two years after that, someone had to leave. He kind-of wants it to be him. He doesn’t want to be stuck in a flat that was filled with millions of memories that he’d rather forget. 

 

“Fuck.” Dan hears Phil hiss under his breath, watching as the older boy lifts a hand to his mouth and bites at the loose skin on the back of his hand, right by his thumb. A bad habit, formed as a coping mechanism after years spent in an abusive environment. 

 

(Before, whenever Phil would bit his hand, Dan would hug him from behind, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder and gently pulling his hand away from his mouth, all the while whispering reassurance into his ear. He didn’t do that this time.)

 

“I’m sorry.” Dan whispers, the words barely making it to Phil’s ears. He still hears Dan though, and looks up through heavy eyelashes, seeking light amongst the other boy’s brown eyes but seeing none, he looks back down at his lap, defeated. 

 

“Okay.” It doesn’t really mean anything, that word. It was agreement, in a way. But it didn’t show any of the emotion that Phil was feeling. 

 

“I should- um. I should go.” Dan says evenly, not missing a beat. There’s a lump stuck somewhere in his throat but it doesn’t change the tone of Dan’s voice. 

 

“So this is it?” Phil wonders out loud. 

 

( _ Is this all that there is? At the end of everything that we’ve been through? We’re ending us like this? You’re breaking me in this way? _ )

 

“Yeah…” Dan breath out, slipping off the sofa and standing up, his shadow almost ( _ almost _ ) touching Phil’s body, crumpled up against the wall, “I agree, we were… In love. But. I can’t fucking do it anymore. I’m  _ sorry,  _ Phil.” 

 

(He is. He’s sorry. So sorry, that millions of words could be used to describe the feeling of breaking inside of Dan’s chest, but none of those words could properly capture the emotion trapped away inside his body.)

 

“I’ll -um. I-I’ll come get my clothes and shit another day, alright?” Dan murmured, keeping his gaze downcast so that his eyes don't reach Phil’s. He doesn’t want to see the blue and green and yellow acrylic painted eyes staring into his own dull brown ones because he was sure that if that happened, he’d come back to Phil again and again, over and over trying to fix the boy who was so beyond saving at this point. 

 

“I’m sorry for fucking us up,” Dan hears Phil murmur, still in his spot against the wall, as Dan left the room. Dan leaves his house keys in the little bowl by the front door and then leave, making sure to not slam it behind him. 

 

Phil can’t move. He’s not sure if it’s just the lack of will, or if it’s literally a physical impossibility for him at that moment. He’s wearing a T-shirt, a loose grey one. He doesn’t remember buying it. It must have belonged to Dan at one point in time. Thin white lines from the past still claw their way through his pale skin, marking it lightly and making it impossible to forget where they had come from.

 

(He’s so broken. So lost. Dan was his lifeline, take the lifeline away and he starts drowning because he had never learned how to swim on his own.)

 

It’s hard to breath. Like someone’s fist is closing around his neck, squeezing softly at first but then accelerating, tightening their fist and making it impossible for Phil to draw a breath.  

 

(He tries telling himself that the fist is simply in his head, an illusion; nothing tangible. But it’s hard and his mind is refusing to think rationally.)

 

( _ But we are in love! But we are in love! But we are (were) in love!) _

 

Tears drag themselves down Phil’s face, a hurricane of thoughts and no lifeboat in sight. He shoves his hand into his mouth and screams around it. 

 

It’s an angry scream, one that’s too full of pain and hatred for it to mean anything else. 

 

He hates the way that he single handedly managed to turn the only person whom has ever loved him, away from him. He was the one that destroyed their love. Their life. 

 

(It wasn’t him. Their love just wasn’t meant to be.)

 

Tears are rushing down his face and everything hurts and Phil wishes that he could go back in time and change  _ everything,  _ so that life could be worth it again. 

 

(Love destroyed people. It turned them desperate, made them into monsters. All for the sake of love.) 

 

Hours go by but he still can’t move properly. 

 

He’s breathing but not quite recognizing that fact. 

 

He’s reaching for his phone, lying discarded on the coffee table. 

 

He’s calling Dan because the only thing that he’s sure about at that moment was that Dan was the one who had always, somehow, managed to save Phil. 

 

It goes to voicemail and Phil pours out his heart without thinking

 

“I-I need you, Dan. I can’t live without you, Dan. I- Fuck!  _ Dan, please come home.  _ I feel like i’m going to explode. We can make this better, can’t we? Can’t we pull through? I loved- no. I  _ love  _ you. Please! I need you right now. I need you so much. You helped me when nothing else could, you pulled me out of a hole that nobody should ever fall into. I can feel that hole again, it’s reaching for me, Dan.  _ Dan, please, I’m so scared right now. I need you. Please come home. Please. _ ”

 

Sobs break through to the surface and Phil chokes, biting down on the back of his hand, blood appearing easily. 

 

It’s almost an echo of a past Phil and tugs present Phil to his feet and leads him to the bathroom, gesturing wordlessly to bottles of pills in the medicine cabinet. Phil is telling himself to do it but another part of Phil wants to wait for Dan, but Dan isn’t coming back. Never would be coming back. 

 

Phil screams inhumanely. 

 

Past Phil urges him to do the wrong thing, and Phil does. He can’t stop himself. As many pills as he can swallow, he does. Numbness takes over him moments later and his vision goes hazy. Slight discomfort hits him when he falls to the floor, but everything’s so peaceful. So soft. It’s welcoming. Why had Dan tried to stop Phil from doing this in the past? Phil loves this feeling. He never wants it to stop. Past Phil lies beside the rapidly-fading body, comforting him. 

 

(He’s dead and his tears aren’t running anymore.)

 

Dan hears the desperation in Phil’s voice simply from the voicemail. It makes him cry harder into the shitty hotel bed. Is it too late? Could he go back? Can he save the broken man? Should he save the broken man? 

 

He calls 999 and tells them his and Phil’s old address, simply saying that there was a suicidal person there and that the person might try to kill himself tonight.

 

When the ambulance gets to the flat, they find a skinny black haired man laying dead on his bathroom floor, empty bottles dotting the counter, some having fallen into the sink. 

 

Too many tears are shed, but the only thing going through Dan’s head when he hears what happened is; ‘ _ it’s my fault. My fault. _ ’

 

He listens to the voicemail that Phil had left, listens to his last words over and over again, torturing himself with the image of the broken boy, crying out to the only person whom ever showed him love. Crying out, begging for help, for assistance, for an easier way out. He hadn’t wanted to die. He had been  _ scared. _

 

Nearly a month later, news channels on T.V all over the UK flash up a picture of a happy-looking boy with brown hair and matching brown eyes, dimples on his cheeks and a smile on his lips. The accompanying story say that this boy died; having thrown himself off the edge of a tall building. Rescue workers whom had tried talking to the boy reported that he seemed to have been overcome with grief and guilt, and wanted to die so that he could feel peaceful again. 

 

Whether near or far, I am always yours. Any change in time;

We are young again. Lay us down, we're in love.

In these coming years, many things will change, but the way I feel

Will remain the same. Lay us down;

_ We're in love. _

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always really nice to see! Keep in mind however, that I wrote this in about half an hour whilst listening to sad music and crying bc of my own personal issues ! (p much just be nice) :)
> 
>  
> 
> (also the lyrics at the bottom of the fic there are from The End Of All Things, by Painc!At The Disco)
> 
> PLEASE KEEP IN MIND: suicide *is* avoidable, and if you are feeling the way the characters did in this fic, you *can* get help. If you need someone to talk to, my tumblr inbox is always open @cas-tellation


End file.
